Beyond - Legends Annals of the Noble House of Trieste: Volume 12 (AU, OC)

@AzureAngel2 @brodiew @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn It's beginning to look a lot like...well, I'll let you finish that sentence after you've read.

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Marian Square, Salis D’aar, Bakura

Holly Remizan unspun the scarf from her neck and hung it on the rack behind the open door, where it would be shortly joined by her overcoat. She’d long ago adjusted to the wetness of Bakura, but this time of year those wet conditions turned to snow. Though she knew winter from her life in the Hapes Consortium, somehow the chill felt colder here.

This was Holly’s least favorite time of year. Due Bakuran election law preventing coordination between government employees (including members of the executive branch) and members of political campaigns, many staffers had quit to work on Ayn’s campaign now that the convention was over. They’d done this four years earlier when Ayn had run her first campaign for Prime Minister. Sometimes she wanted to shout at them, “We have a government to run!” but knew better than to vent at her colleagues like that. Instead she stewed and accepted the situation as a necessary part of running a planet.

Even though the business of government continued, the impending Yuletide holidays generally slowed the workings of the capital as everyone’s minds turned towards parties and family gatherings. That meant things were generally a little quieter all over the capital and the pace of the day less hectic (assuming no one started a war somewhere in the galaxy, at least). That meant that Holly wasn’t running from one fire to the next, but instead actually getting work done.

One of the side benefits was that she could actually glance at the headlines in the news instead of relying on assistants to provide her with summaries. As usual, she started with the Salis D’aar Times, the capital’s leading news organization. Nothing of great interest on the home page.

“Who’s first this morning?” Holly called casually through her open door to her scheduler.

“Senator Wix,” was the call that came back.

“About?” Holly followed up, flicking to the next section of the Times. This was definitely not a meeting she’d asked for. Wix was a backbencher in a district he was sure to easily carry. She had more concerns than him.

“Pushing his local infrastructure bill through.”

Holly rolled her eyes as she kept flipping through the Times. That was the kind of bill they’d pass eventually. Wix was just being impatient. Probably wanted a legislative win before the Yuletide recess. She’d make him feel heard and keep him from taking up Ayn’s time. That was a fair amount of her job--managing the things that didn’t merit a Prime Minister’s attention.

Holly was about to move to the next section--and then paused with her finger still on her screen.

“Reschedule Wix,” Holly said, the tenor of her voice shifting to serious in a flash.

“He--”

“Tell him it’ll be tea in...choose some nice room here where he’ll feel special,” Holly said, not caring to think through such logistics. There was something more important she needed to deal with now. “I need the morning cleared.”

The reason why was on her screen. Deep in the Times political news was the headline: Gesco City credits flood into Fianna Fail.

“And get me a neutral site meeting with the FFNC chair,” Holly ordered. “In the next hour--and only if it can’t be in the next half hour.”

---

“Who the frak is Lyle Garner?” Holly demanded, shoving her datapad across the table and into the face of the Fianna Fail National Committee Chairwoman. Fiona Carrick was the leader of the national party, though the role was mainly responsible for setting rules for prime ministerial primaries, planning and organizing the planet-wide convention, and, most importantly, fundraising for candidates. Carrick had taken the post after two terms as Governor of Salis D’aar, not a bad retirement.

Carrick blinked. “This is news to me, Holly.”

“Then why the kriff is Garner reporting that Yeoh Gawa and a coterie of Gesco City business owners and executives have poured millions of credits into both the FFNC and individual campaigns, each of them right at the legal limit?” Holly demanded, nearly shouting. To keep the meeting off the books of both Marian Square and prevent anyone from seeing Holly going into the FFNC offices it was being held in the offices of the law firm of Fleetfire Talon, which had no official relationship to either the party or the federal government. They were, however, the Noble House of Trieste’s personal attorneys and were accordingly glad to do Ayn’s Chief of Staff a favor.

“We review every donation to make sure it complies with campaign finance laws,” Carrick said. “We’ve been in total compliance. I’m insulted you’d think we wouldn’t screen for violations.”

“Of course you’re in compliance, because even a Jawa would be in compliance with those laws!” Holly bellowed. “That’s not the issue here!” She read from the article. “The Gawa family, Gesco City real estate moguls, appear to be major contributors to Fianna Fail’s 296 campaign. Each member of the family contributed the legal maximum, as did the entirety of several other families known to be business associates of the Gawas. In most cases, 296 marks the first time these families have contributed to either party.”

“Holly, at worst that’s bundling,” Carrick objected. “It happens all the time and it’s completely legal.”

“Let me finish,” Remizan said sternly. “‘It’s surprising to see such a major and sudden entry into campaign finance by so many parties,’ Professor Arik Neglen of the University of Evenvale said. ‘It raises questions about whether some of these contributions really came from the listed sources.’ Indeed, the Gawa children, some of whom are minors. Their aggregate contributions total in the tens of thousands of credits.”

“That’s all supposition.”

“And because someone’s put it out there, beings are going to begin thinking about whether the Gawa family used proxies to funnel credits to us and that’s illegal!” Holly shouted. “Force forbid the Senate starts looking into this. The only reason they might not is because so many of them took the Gawa’s credits!” Holly slammed her datapad down. Carrick wondered if it still worked after the impact.

“But unfortunately the Senate’s not the real problem here: it’s the FEC, because their charter is broad and this is exactly the sort of thing they love investigating!” Holly continued. “If you don’t think they haven’t opened a file on this now that it’s in the Times, then you’re stupider than a bantha!”

“Holly, we have attorneys who are going to take care of this,” Carrick said. “Assure the Prime Minister--”

Holly Remizan lunged across the table and grabbed Carrick by the neck of her blouse and pulled her forward so their faces were centimeters apart. “Don’t you ever put the Prime Minister and this matter in the same sentence again,” Holly said quietly and fiercely. “From this moment forward, there is a wall between her, the Minister of State, and the rest of Marian Square and this krutaking mess. You are not going to do anything. Your attorneys aren’t going to do anything. I am going to fix this problem and you are going to do whatever I say, whenever I say it, to make sure that I take care of it. Are we clear?”

Carrick nodded.

Holly released her. “Very good. Now clean yourself up in case someone sees you leave. And while you’re at it,” Holly said as she dusted herself off, “wait half an hour so I can get out of here first. Given the job you’ve done thus far, I’d say my time is vastly more valuable than yours.”

The Chief of Staff walked out, a Prime Ministerial-sized mess to handle before her.

 

@AzureAngel2 @brodiew @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn You know it, you love it, it's the annual...

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Marian Square, Salis D’aar, Bakura

The garland was hung, the candles were lit, and the attendees arrived in furs. The Executive Mansion blazed with lights in every window, emitting a warm glow in the early-falling night. The sure signs of a Trieste Marian Square Yuletide party were all there. This year, there were a few Yuletide events hosted by the Prime Minister: one for those who worked in the complex, one for political figures of the capital, one for service members. Tonight’s was just for family and good friends, a night of true enjoyment for the politicians and public figures who didn’t have to work the crowd for a change.

Even in such a relaxed atmosphere, there was still nothing like an election year Yuletide party in Marian Square.

---

“Gutsy move, sister,” Fiona Westenra said.

“I’m sure you’re not talking about my latest majority opinion, because I know you don’t read them,” Regan Eldred replied wryly. “But then again neither does Atticus. So please, illuminate me exactly what you’re referring to.”

“The word in the Senate is that they’re going to take you up on your offer,” Fiona said. “With the term limit amendment ratified, they’re going to make your Supreme Court seat up first for Senate confirmation...or nomination, perhaps, depending on who the next Prime Minister is.”

“Good, while there’s still some spirit of bipartisanship in play,” Regan said confidently. “It’ll be nice to have that out of the way for the next 18 years.”

“Better go kiss the ring a couple more times for safety’s sake,” Fiona teased. “It’d be a shame if Ayn decided she wanted someone else in that seat.” She left Regan with her husband.

“For someone who serves at the pleasure of the Prime Minister, she’s awfully bold,” Atticus Eldred observed of the departing Minister of Defense.

“Much too bold,” Regan agreed with narrow eyes as she watched Fiona leave.

---

“I hope there will be good quarterly earnings after the shopping season,” Vesper Lynd said to Rickard and Ginny Harlow. As a prominent member of the board of directors of The Rivers department store, courtesy of managing the Noble House’s stake in the company, she had an acute interest in the company’s performance.

“We anticipate strong sales based on this year’s strategy,” Rickard said. This would mark the full implementation of his vision for the company, the vision that he’d staked his career on when taking the top job at the retailer.

“We saw good pre-Yuletide sales based on our new positioning as the product experts that cut through the noise,” Ginny said.

“Yes, I’ve seen the commercials,” Vesper commented. “It’s hard not to.”

The Rivers had made a big advertising push with Ginny as the face of the company. She didn’t identify herself by name, but most Bakuran HoloNet users now associated her with The Rivers thanks to repeat viewings of the ad. “There are 408 refrigerators available for purchase on Bakura today,” she explained in it. “Sure, that one’s price is low, but is it actually any good? This one’s price is high, but is it really worth the cost?” She demonstrated with appliances in question. “At The Rivers, we’ve got product experts who do the testing so you don’t have to. We don’t sell 408 refrigerators: we sell 4 and we stand by them as the best refrigerators you can buy on Bakura from a quality and overall cost perspective. So don’t spend days pouring over the HoloNet trying to decipher user reviews you don’t know if you can believe. Trust The Rivers.”

“We’re making shopping an experience that’s fun, not cumbersome,” Rickard said, repeating one of his regular talking points from industry and media events. “This is going to put us at the forefront of consumer spending on Bakura.”

“Mmmm,” Vesper said noncommittally. “Forgive me if I wait for the quarterly earnings instead of...trusting The Rivers.”

Before Ginny could sass her sister about mocking the new catchphrase for the company, Vesper’s husband Nicholas Arden showed up. “Hey honey,” he said softly in her ear, “I grew up hearing there’s an Arden Bedroom in this place and I’d like to--”

Vesper put a finger on his lips. “Say no more.” She put her half-finished drink on a droid server’s tray. “We’re needed elsewhere.”

“For important historical work,” Nicholas explained superfluously as he took his wife by the hand and led her away.

“What kind of earnings per share do you think it’ll take to wipe that smugness from Vesper’s face?” Ginny asked crossly.

“Whatever it is, we’re going to beat it by 50%,” Rickard promised.

“Invite me to that board meeting, would you?”

“Done.”

---

“I feel completely silly,” May Hull complained, but with a smile.

“Don’t they do this on Roon?” Sevan said with a broad smile.

“I’ve lived on Bakura almost all of my adult life,” May pointed out. “They don’t do this here.”

The “this” in question was the wreath of holly that was sitting on top of her head like a crown. She was wearing it begrudgingly at the insistence of her husband.

“I didn’t say it was a Bakuran tradition, I just said that you looked great in it,” Sevan pointed out.

May kissed him. “Fair point.”

“Well I think it looks lovely,” Corrie Ypres-Trieste said, coming over to embrace her cousin in-law.

“Corrie! What a surprise,” May said as she received the hug.

Quentin and Corrie had made the trip from Druckenwell for this year’s Yuletide party. Though no one but Ayn and Declan knew it, the Ypres-Triestes’ lives had become simpler since the winding down of The Way. The thought of the beings they hadn’t been able to get to freedom still sometimes tormented them, but they were coming to live with it by focusing on those who they’d been able to help. In fact, some of them were now working in Ypres Initiative businesses. It seemed like yet another “least thing” the pair could do for former de facto slaves.

“It’s nice to come back every once in a while,” Corrie said. She’d gone to Atalanta University, so she had some connection to Bakura. It had been where she’d met Quentin by literally running into him.

“How are things in the Federation? Nice and quiet?” Sevan asked.

“Please Sevan. This is not a party for pumping beings for stories,” May chided.

“Hard to turn off reporter’s instinct,” Sevan said with a smile. “Besides, who better to ask than someone at the Federation’s leading corporate conglomerate? I’m sure the Initiative knows everything that’s going on, like if something’s going down with the Corporate Sector.”

“The Corporate Sector?” Corrie asked. Had May and Sevan known her better, they might have felt she’d echoed a little too quickly.

“I’m just hearing things. High level contacts, things like that,” Sevan volunteered.

“You should really talk with someone in the Federation. Just because we have a more integrated private-public partnership doesn’t mean I know what’s going on in our foreign affairs,” Corrie said.

“But maybe your dad has mentioned something?” Sevan asked hopefully. Corrie’s father, William, had once been President of the Federation. “Some old contacts keeping him in the loop?”

“Stop it, Sevan!” May said, swatting him. “No more of this, let’s leave that all for another time and enjoy tonight.”

“As you wish,” Sevan said, kissing his wife.

Even as they moved on to other topics of conversation, Corrie couldn’t help wondering what was going on between the Federation and the Corporate Sector--and if somehow it was her fault.

---

“You know, drinking alcohol is bad for you if you’re cold,” Falene said as she and Declan shared a whiskey under one of the colonnades of Marian Square, bundled against the winter chill. “Drops your core body temperature.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I’m ever stranded in the middle of nowhere and I don’t have four marshals ready to haul me inside if so much as the tip of my nose starts going blue,” Declan commented dryly.

“I heard there was something in the Times,” Falene said. “Campaign contributions?”

“Since when do you read the Times?” Declan asked incredulously. “You’re barely even on Bakura.” It was true: after seeing to getting the Kurtzen back to Bakura, Falene had continued exploring Wild Space. It was hit-and-miss when they heard from her since comm buoys weren’t positioned out there. When she did come back into the known galaxy, she had tales of new planets to share with safe star lanes mapped to them. It was painstaking work, but Falene thrived on going places no other being had been.

“OK, so Mom told me,” Falene admitted. She took a drink of whiskey, reflecting on the visit to Redwood Creek. “She’s worried, you know.”

“I’m touched,” Declan said, though he didn’t sound emotional about it.

“She said ‘You don’t frak around with campaign finance violations. Numbers are the hardest thing to spin.’ That’s about as worried as Mom gets.”

“It’s being taken care of,” Declan said, looking out into the snowy night. You couldn’t see the Bakuran Senate Building from this point, but it was out there, waiting.

“I told her I was sure you had it in hand,” Falene assured him. “You’ve always had a plan.”

“No, I don’t have anything in hand,” Declan corrected.

Falene’s face flooded with worry. “What? Dek, I know I don’t know what goes on in your world, but this seems like the sort of thing that you need to be on top of.”

“If I was doing anything about this, that would be even worse,” Declan said, continuing to let his gaze roam into the night. “We have beings for this. Beings who don’t need to be told what to do. Who provide insulation.” He finished his drink.

“Let me guess: this is why you and Ayn are better Taoiseachs than I was,” Falene commented with a smile. “You have beings for this kind of thing.”

“Falene, you were never a bad Taoiseach,” Declan said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “But you would have been if you’d cared about what most Taoiseachs did, what Ayn and I do. And that’s why you were a good one. You did it on your terms and nobody else’s. That’s the thing about what Ayn and I do. Even when we’re in control, we’re never operating in a vacuum.”

“Well, you’ve got a point. I’ve always been in a vacuum,” Falene said.

Declan cocked an eyebrow, inviting her to proceed.

“Vaccum of space.” She smiled.

Declan shook his head, but he still smiled. “Terrible. Absolutely terrible.”

“So bad it was good,” Falene said, pleased with herself.

“Come on. We didn’t win a general election to stand outside in the cold,” Declan said, shepherding his younger sister back inside. “That’s for everyone else.”

It went unsaid that the Noble House of Trieste did not get left out in the cold.

 

@AzureAngel2 @brodiew @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 This one comes courtesy of partnership with @Vehn as there's some crossover into the world of Tesserone.

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Tesserone, Roon

The big house was quiet. Grace sat and gazed out at the snowy mountains, calm and still in the distance. Even though they were far enough away to seem small, she could still feel their weight. This place seemed well-suited to winter. Even though she hadn’t grown up at Tesserone, it somehow felt familiar. Maybe not home, but close to it. It was a good place to be for what she had on her mind. Something she thought was closed didn’t feel so final anymore.

“It’s something, isn’t it?”

Grace turned and found her grandfather Oisin Trieste in the doorway. He had a cup of tea in each hand.

“Some days I wonder if I came here for your grandmother or for that view,” Oisin admitted. He handed Grace one of the cups. “The poems I’ve written looking at those mountains…”

“‘Those great hoary mothers,’” Grace quoted.

“So you’ve read some of them,” Oisin said with a smirk. He sipped his tea, his eyes still on the distant landscape. “Maybe if I could have put it into words better I might have made some credits as a poet.”

“I’m told you did all right for yourself,” Grace said.

“As poets go, sure,” Oisin said. “But I’m not here to talk about me.”

Grace wished he were. It might distract her from her own troubles. More than that, she’d had so little time with Oisin. She couldn’t even feel comfortable calling him Grandpa or anything like that. She wished she’d had all those childhood years for him to unspool old stories on cold days like this. Something like a normal life.

“You’ve got that look, kid,” Oisin told Grace.

“What look?”

“I’ve learned that when beings come to Tesserone, they’re here for one of two reasons: to get back to the land and find themselves or to escape the troubles of that wide galaxy,” Oisin said. “But it’s really all the same reason. They’re looking to figure things out, to get clarity. This place lends itself to that kind of thing.” He turned his gaze from the mountains to Grace. “It’s OK, you don’t have to tell me what it is. Let an old being give you some advice though.

“You know what to do. That’s not some Obi-Wan, inscrutable moral. You know what’s right and you know what’s wrong because you’ve seen enough of both. Your mom? In her heart she’s only ever done what she felt was right. Wasn’t always pretty, but the right choice sometimes isn’t. But that wasn’t your life. You did some terrible stuff. It wasn’t your fault,” he hastened to assure her,
“but you’ve still got that in you. Doesn’t make you a bad being. It makes you someone who knows what’s right because you know what’s wrong.”

He sighed, as if he hadn’t put it the right way. “I’m just saying, you’ve got a good compass, Grace, because it’s calibrated at two points. Trust it.”

The teacup started to shake in Oisin’s hand. Grace’s brow furrowed and something in the Force told her something was wrong. “Oisin--”

Before she could get further, Oisin’s knees buckled. It was only thanks to the Force that she was able to catch him before he fell. The teacup, however, tumbled to the carpet, its contents spilling on the carpet.

“Oisin, let’s get you off your feet,” Grace said, helping him to a sofa. Silently, she was running through his body with the aid of the Force, trying to figure out what’s wrong with Oisin.

“Hey, kid,” Oisin said through evident pain, “relax. This has been coming for years. It’s my heart. Nothing the Force can do is going to stop this, nor should it. Even Yoda’s time ended.”

“Let me get Verity,” Grace said, trying to stay calm.

“She’s miles away at the hospital. Talk about ironic,” Oisin said managing to smile. “She knew the end could come any time. Don’t worry about her--she’s strong, like you, like your mother. Vehn women always have been.”

The 74-year-old gripped Grace’s forearm. “Maybe it’s a dying man talking, but I wanted you to come. Maybe it’s coincidence, but I thought maybe if I put it out there...and here you are.”

“What...what do you mean?” Grace asked, confused.

“Reach out with the Force. That’s what they say to do, right?” Oisin asked a strain in his voice, but something close to a smile on his face.

Grace closed her eyes and opened herself...and there it was. A tiny spark. Faint, but it was there.

“Yeah, you come by it honestly, kid,” Oisin said.

“You’re Force-sensitive?” Grace said. “Why did no one ever say anything?”

“Not even Verity knows. Your mom certainly didn’t. Then again, she’s always had a way of finding out secrets so maybe she does and she’s pretended for my sake,” Oisin said. He laughed, but clutched his chest at a spasm of pain. “My parents, they knew. They were friends with a Jedi Master. One of the greats. Look her up some time on Bakura. She’s your cousin Elfie’s grandmother. Lexine Wydra. Heck of a being. Deck stacked against her early on.

“Lexine told them what I was. She gave them a choice: let me become a Jedi, save the galaxy; or a normal life. Well, as normal as one was going to be as my father’s son,” Oisin admitted. “They chose the latter. Looking back, I’m glad they did.”

Grace hadn’t given up. As Oisin had talked she’d searched inside him with the Force, to find that thing she could heal to give him more time. This being had given up a life of ease on Bakura as a member of one of the great families, an almost aristocracy, to come to Roon, a world that was still, for all it had achieved, a place of strife and hardship at its heart. He deserved more.

But he was right. She didn’t want to admit it, so she kept looking in vain. This was a sickness the Force couldn’t heal. It was life catching up with him.

“So I thought, maybe just this once I’d get a message out there in the Force and somehow you’d know if you needed to be here for the end. I was with my mother died when she died and I wanted to give you that, after everything we didn’t get. She just collapsed, Mom, in the garden one day, a month after Dad died. She’d loved him so much, the galaxy was just too much without him. That won’t be Verity’s fate. Like I said, Vehn women. I knew what I was getting into when I married into this family. Vehn husbands rarely outlive their wives.”

Oisin took a deep breath. It wasn’t really that deep, but it was the best he could manage. “I know it’s been a galaxy of pain for you, but if Tesserone has taught me anything, it’s that the sun is going to shine again.”

“Thank you,” Grace said. She didn’t know why she said it, but somehow it felt right.

“Hey, do me one more favor, kid,” Oisin said, his strength beginning to fade. “When they take me to the tree, go with them. You’re one part Trieste in there too.” He tapped her chest twice before his hand fell back. “You deserve to be there.”

His eyes softened, fixing on something beyond even the sight of a Jedi.

“And since it fell into my lot
That I should rise and you should not,” Oisin breathed.

So passed Oisin Trieste, seventh son of Jane Wyvern and Fionn Dunross Trieste, the only one who left Bakura behind and discovered a galaxy wider for it.

---

Kilmainham Brook, Prytis, Bakura

“I’ll gently rise and softly call
Good night and joy be to you all,” Ayn finished in her duty as Taoiseach. She held a glass of whiskey as most of the Noble House stood in the fields of the family estate, the grass dusted with frost, the branches of the old tree shifting in a cold breeze.

As was the Noble House tradition, even in the cold of winter with its hard earth, Oisin’s surviving spouse and his children had dug the hole into which they’d poured his ashes. In that soil they would join with his parents and his siblings.

And the tree would grow tall and strong.

They all stood over the mound of earth now. Everyone raised their glass.

“So fill to me the parting glass,” Ayn recited.

May was the only one of Oisin’s children who had kept the Trieste name, up until the day she’d married. She had always been closest to her father of his three kids. His death was hard not just because he was gone, but because she knew with Bakuran medicine he would still be alive now. She also knew Oisin had been aware that organ replacement could have saved him, but he had chosen Roon, for better or worse. It was a decision he hadn’t betrayed, even at the end.

“And drink a health what e’er befalls”

Austin stood, hand in hand with his wife Addison and their baby Connor. Seeing his father laid in the ground nearly brought him to tears. He had been his father’s only male heir and Austin had rejected the Trieste name to carry on the Vehn legacy. Though he felt some remorse for that now, the Jedi felt in the Force that his father had ultimately been pleased with the decision. Whatever his last name, Oisin had chosen to be a Vehn man himself.

“And gently rise and softly call”

Eleanor was not so restrained. She wept openly, leaning against Rowan’s shoulder, Grace’s arm around her. She had spent so little time with her father: whisked away to be Queen of Naboo, then just as quickly on to the Presidency of the RTO and Federation, off to Coruscant to be Senator, back to government service in the Federation, fighting on the range. There would be no more time now. Even though she had taken on the Vehn name and restored it to greatness, she realized now that her father had been more a part of her life than she’d realized. The truth was, she’d done it all like a Trieste. She’d been her father’s daughter after all.

“Good night and joy be to you all,” Ayn finished.

Together they drank, but they left some in their glasses. It was Oisin’s share. One by one, they poured it out into the cold, freshly turned earth. The Noble House withdrew to let Verity with her children and grandchildren say their final goodbyes. The last to withdraw were Oisin’s siblings.

“I thought he’d outlive us all,” Fiona said. The others didn’t have much to say to that.

“In the end, he might have been the happiest of us all,” Ronan observed. He looked older than his years. It was understandable given the tribulations he’d gone through this decade. If Oisin had been the happiest, Ronan might now be the saddest.

“Oisin was always someone who was happy with the choices he made,” Regan said.

“And the galaxy is better for those choices,” Kerry said. She paused to look over her shoulder at the Vehns. “Vastly better.”

Grace was the first to leave the tree. It wasn’t because she didn’t miss her grandfather, but because she had been the one to be with him at the end. She wanted to give the others their time. As she walked back towards the big house where they would have their wake for Oisin, she put one thought out into the Force. Oisin wasn’t a Force ghost, but she hoped he would still hear.

I know what to do now. Thank you.

 

And so passes the progenitor of the modern Vehn family....rest in peace Oisin

 

I think ladies can be progenitors too, so we've still got one!

 

Luckily.

Great update, sniff.

Unfortunately, my mother-in-law has no alcohol in her house. After all this intense reading, I am going to make myself a herbal tea with honey and toast to Oisin. Then I am going over to @DarthUncle chair and inform him of the latest exciting, yet sad updates.

 

@AzureAngel2 @brodiew @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn Happy new year to you all! ...or is it?

Salis D’aar, Bakura

Holly tapped her finger against her chin four times in rapid succession. It was an unconscious motion that came from deep thought. Before her were the latest polling numbers. Ayn was leading the Prime Minister’s race with an average across the polls hovering below 54%. As general elections went, that was still pretty good. However, that wasn’t what had her concerned, even if it was a decline of 6% compared to their 292 results.

No, it was the polling on the Senate races she was viewing. Many of Fianna Fail’s pick ups from the last Senate election were within the margin of error for the aggregate polling that Holly used. That meant they were toss-ups and Holly didn’t like that uncertainty. If the Senate flipped the Union Party would clog up the next four years, preventing any meaningful legislation from going through. Depending on how firmly a Unionist majority held, they might even force the Prime Minister to accept budgets with reprehensible provisions to keep the federal government running (which she would--the alternative was irresponsible).

It would take a bloodbath for the Unionists to take control of the Senate, but with the right breaks it could happen. Holly needed different breaks and she didn’t believe in sitting around and waiting for them to fall from the sky.

She picked up her personal comm, the one that wasn’t logged in the official records of Marian Square. Not only that, but this was the type of call she only made in her apartment and never in her office.

“Alec, I need for you to arrange a random audit for me,” Holly said, cutting to the chase. “The name’s Garner Lekworth.”

---

“Don’t tell me you’re a Mercs fan,” Sevan said jokingly, stopping by his coworker’s desk at the offices of the Salis D’aar Times. The media outlet was, like the rest of Bakura, abuzz with the unexpected good fortune of the local limmie team. They were going to finish the season with the best record and host the Galactic Cup Final. It would be the first time in half a century the Final had been on Bakura--and it would be happening right in Salis D’aar. Reporters were in hyperdrive preparing stories on everything from the hospitality sector’s preparations for the sudden influx of visitors, the county’s preparations for the match, the cost to county taxpayers for things like police overtime (and whether the fee the ELL would pay to the county for the use of Bakura Gardens would offset them) and the bevy of associated events that came with the Final, and the impact for local businesses.

However, Garner looked dismayed more than anything else. “No, no, it’s not that. I got a notice yesterday that the Exchequer is auditing my last three years of taxes,” Garner said.

“That’s terrible. Three years? Isn’t that the maximum amount of years they can go back? Seems excessive to me,” Sevan said. “You have anything to worry about?”

“No, my tax pro said she’ll take care of it, everything’s in line. She’s good, but it’s just inconvenient. She said she might need some records to back things up and it’s a pain to pull those out,” Garner said. “But I guess it happens.”

“Yeah...it does…” Sevan said.

He didn’t sound convinced.

---

“Sevan, what can I do for you?” Declan said. “I’ve got a few minutes before my next meeting.”

The holoprojection of Sevan stood in the middle of the room. “Weirdest thing happened over here, Dek.”

“What? The Miners actually won a big game?” Declan asked wryly. As Chairman of the team, Declan had been on a metaphorical victory lap of the capital. Even Senators who passionately disagreed with the policies he and Ayn advocated for were calling to congratulate him. Fionn Trieste had known what he was doing when he’d bought the Miners from near-bankruptcy almost a century ago. When the team did well, they were a powerful cultural force on this planet at the edge of the known galaxy.

“No, coworker of mine just got an Exchequer audit notice,” Sevan said.

“Ayn has been clear that she wants strong enforcement for tax accuracy. Everyone needs to pay their fair share,” Declan said, his mental database of administration positions kicking in and providing talking points. “If all was filed correctly, then I’m sure it’ll just be an inconvenience.”

“Yeah, except it’s the last three years,” Sevan said. “That’s going to be quite an inconvenience.”

“Sevan--” Declan said.

“And this coworker is the guy who broke the reporting on the new money coming into Fianna Fail’s Senate races. Seems like a heck of a coincidence, Dek.”

Declan folded his hands together before replying, disengaging his canned statements. “Sevan, this is an Exchequer matter. If you or your coworker have questions about this, you should talk to them. The last thing that either of you want is for me to ask any questions about this. That’s the sort of thing that’s going to get to some other media outlet and will become a story about how the Noble House is using its influence to shield its friends from government scrutiny. That’s an even worse story for everyone involved.”

“I just wanted you to be aware. Neither scenario looks good, but what looks worse is if some overzealous minister or aspirant thinks they’re doing you and Ayn a favor by abusing their power to quash a story. I guarantee you that story’s going to get reported by this outlet if someone digs it up.”

“Thank you for your call, Sevan.” Declan ended the call without waiting for a farewell from his cousin.

Declan had meant what he’d said to Falene at the Yuletide Party. He didn’t know exactly what was going on with efforts by others to prevent this funding story from hurting their electoral chances, but he could guess. He could make another call and know for sure, but Declan didn’t do that. As long as he was only guessing, he was fine. He’d let this play out as it would.

It was the smart move.

 

It would take a bloodbath for the Unionists to take control of the Senate, but with the right breaks it could happen.

The bloodbath or the taking over?!?

 

Holly's thinking electorally. If Fianna Fail loses an unusually large number of seats in the Senate (the "bloodbath"), despite having a 60-20 majority coming into the elections they could still lose control of the legislative chamber.

However, it's been a long time since the last massacre on Bakura. Never know what might be coming.

 

@AzureAngel2 @brodiew @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn

Salis D’aar, Bakura

“Hey Mr. Lekworth,” the doorman called as the reporter came into the lobby. “I have to apologize.”

“What for?” Garner asked.

“Some courier was here, trying to drop off a package in your apartment. I told him she could leave it with me, but she said it was too important. Had to be dropped off in your unit,” the doorman explained. “Got a little heated. She said you knew it was coming and it was too sensitive to leave with me. I didn’t take offense or anything, but I told her rules were rules and we don’t just let beings into other beings’ apartments. I’m sorry about the inconvenience, but I’ve got to answer to my boss on things like this.”

“Scott, Scott,” Garner interjected before the doorman could get any further. “Don’t sweat it. I’ll just get it later. You did the right thing. I’ll make sure your Life Day tip is a big one next year.”

“Hey, thanks very much Mr. L!” the doorman said. “What’s the big fuss about anyways?”

“Eh, nothing so big as she made it out to be,” Garner said casually as he stepped into the hoverlift.

Except, once the doors closed and the lift shot up, Garner’s casual demeanor disappeared. He was expecting no packages, let alone anything that might be important. Someone insisting they had to get into his apartment meant only one thing.

He had to check his apartment to see if someone had rifled it.

---

Holly twirled a stylus in one hand as she thought. Audits hadn’t deterred Lekworth from dropping the campaign finance story. She’d tried to get someone inside his apartment to give it a once-over, but she hadn’t been able to do so without raising suspicions. At the very least the attempt let the reporter know that they knew where he lived.

And she was looking at another Times article about the latest Federal Election Commission filings that showed the Gawas and their allies were still sending money to a cadre of at-risk Fianna Fail candidates with mere weeks to go before the elections.

It appeared something stronger was required.

Holly opened a public archive of the Salis D’aar Times. It was time to start digging.

---

“Excuse me, but what the frak?” Sevan Hull exclaimed in disbelief.

“We’re being sued for libel,” the editor-in-chief informed the senior reporting staff. She’d decided against informing everyone, but this was something that the principal reporters needed to hear. They’d devoted a lot of their lives to the outlet and deserved to get the truth from the source.

“Bakur Repulsor Corp is just bringing this up now? Two years later?” another reporter asked in disbelief.

“Their suit alleges that the article set in motion events that led to their stock price drop earlier this year,” the editor-in-chief explained. “It was, in the attorneys’ words, ‘the precipitating event.’”

“This is ridiculous,” Sevan said. “I remember that article. Yeah, we reported on management strategy in labor negotiations, but that was backed up by numerous solid sources who spoke to us, even if it was anonymously. The editorial board reviewed it and it passed our regular standards.”

“Our attorneys are confident that the courts will agree. The law is on our side. We just need to weather the storm and keep doing our jobs,” the editor-in-chief said.

“And how long is that going to take? Months?” Sevan asked with disgust. “And this happens right before an election? This is the worst possible moment for these allegations to be hanging over us, baseless as they are. It calls all our reporting into question.”

“The important thing is to just keep pushing through. We show BRC that this is getting to us and they’re only going to push harder. Let’s put our heads down and keep getting the truth out there.”

As the reporters filed out, Garner, who had remained silent during the meeting, pulled Sevan aside into an office. “Sevan, I don’t think it’s an accident that the BRC article at the center of this was written by me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think someone’s targeting me. First the audits, then someone tries to get into my apartment--maybe they did, maybe they didn’t, but I couldn’t find anything missing--and now an old article of mine is at the center of a lawsuit. There’s too many points of confluence here for this to be an accident,” Garner said.

“I don’t know. Maybe. The question is where this is coming from. You make anybody angry lately?” Sevan asked.

“We don’t shy away from the truth here. Could be any one of a number of beings or corporations,” Garner admitted. “If I had to guess...I wonder about that campaign finance story you gave me. What you shared from talking with the Minister of State didn’t do much to disabuse me of the idea.”

“It wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy,” Sevan admitted, “but Declan didn’t warn me off either. Trust me, I’ve been in the room when he and Ayn decide to go to war. He wasn’t threatening me over this. I don’t think he and Ayn are behind it or even close to what’s going on. Could be the Gawas themselves. A family that’s stayed in the background and now getting a lot of media attention fits the profile.”

“My gut tells me somebody doesn’t want this story out there and I’m beginning to get scared how far they’ll go to keep it from getting out there.”

“Well, as I see it we’ve got two choices. Give them what they want and drop it, but I don’t think either of us would consider ourselves journalists worth our press badge if we did that,” Sevan said. Garner nodded. “Or we go harder and show them they can’t intimidate you.”

“We?” Garner echoed.

“I gave you that story. It’s time I stood behind it with you,” Sevan said with determination as firm as the mountains of Bakura. “They want to go after you? Let’s see what they think about bringing a Trieste into the mix.”

“Trieste in-law,” Garner corrected.

“So’s the Prime Minister and a lot of beings would think twice before messing with her,” Sevan said with a smile. “It’s time we bring out the turbolaser cannons.”

 

Well, sometimes the money isn't worth it, I'd say. But also, wonder if that's what Holly had in mind; I would have expected Sevan coming into it at some point (and what a nice argument for Declan - why would we as a family be involved? Look, we are on both sides of this disagreement, supporting solid journalism when it is difficult for us from another perspective!)

Still looking forward to learn more about how Sevan got by the story too, not so sure about coincidences in your tellings!

 

Ah, but the question is whether Declan is really on Sevan's side. He's practicing some willful ignorance of what's going on here and may have his suspicions about who's to blame.

As for why Sevan's so interested, he's the one who handed the story off to Garner in the first place.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn Time to start wrapping up 296...

Salis D’aar, Bakura

“You have a problem coming.”

Around elections, Holly didn’t sleep much in general. While it would have been odd for other beings to have a meeting in a cafe at 1:00 in the morning, it was perfectly normal for her--especially when the being she was meeting was one of her off-the-books consultants.

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” Holly deadpanned. “We are on the eve of the election. My whole life is a series of upcoming problems.”

“A friend on the staff of the Times tells me that their crusading journalist, Ekworth, is doubling down. He’s combing through the last 20 years of campaign finance data. The word is that he’s collating data through a high-powered computer, collating, looking for patterns, connections,” her contact said. “If I were you, I’d expect all the dirty laundry to come out. It sounds like this could be a long-term project and might not see the light of day before the election.”

Holly’s face remained impassive. “That assumes there’s anything to report on.”

“Even stuff that’s clean could look dirty.” He shrugged. “Too many contributions from hedge fund managers, business execs who are reliable donors come to the fore and somebody finds they benefited from this piece of legislation…all I’m saying is be ready for this to hit the streets early in the next administration.”

“Thanks as always,” Holly said. They both knew better than to discuss payment. It was taken care of without question. To do otherwise would have been to court disclosure of this business to the same kind of journalists they were discussing now.

“With the Galactic Cup none of this is going to stick to the PM if it comes out. She could probably club some baby seals tomorrow and still have an approval rating above 50%.” He wasn’t wrong. The championship win by the Miners, on Bakura no less, had all but guaranteed Ayn’s reelection. Holly knew the real danger was down the ticket, potentially tarnishing Senate candidates. “There’s one more thing you should know. My friend tells me Sevan Hull is working the piece. Thought that could be useful to know.”

“Appreciated,” Holly said. It was clear that was a dismissal. He took the hint and left.

It was important to know that Hull was involved, but not helpful. Holly knew full well that Sevan was about as ethical as a Jedi Knight. He’d be no help in quashing this story. Ekworth hadn’t responded to her earlier messages. It seemed she’d have to send one he couldn’t ignore. If she didn’t, he could ruin everything.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn

Cape Suzette, Bakura

“Any other politician, at almost any other time, would see a more-than-5% decrease in votes election-over-election as troubling, if not indicative that they’d been sacked by the voters, but the mood is nothing but festive here tonight,” the BBC reporter said live from the ballroom hosting the Trieste ‘96 election night event.

As the BBC had reported, based on Federal Election Commission results, Ayn Trieste had been given another four year term as prime minister by the Bakuran voters, taking 55.1% of the vote against her Unionist opponent. The next four years would result in something few Prime Ministers of Bakura ever accomplished: over a decade of leadership of their homeworld.

“One could argue that the utter collapse of the Samson Drave candidacy likely boosted Trieste’s results four years ago to such a high level that Trieste could take a hit like this,” the BBC anchor in Salis D’aar said. “How is the campaign characterizing Trieste’s total this time around?”

“I spoke with the campaign manager for the prime minister who said that they see 55% as a resounding mandate in the PM’s favor. Here’s a quote: ‘A 10 point victory shows that Bakurans overwhelmingly approve of the Prime Minister’s vision for Bakura and want to enshrine the key legislation she’s signed as part of the foundation of Bakuran life.’”

“Indeed, the Prime Minister embraced the narrative that this was a referendum on her second administration agenda, including national service university debt forgiveness and BakIncome. While the Union Party largely rejected this narrative with a ‘reform without replacement’ platform, Trieste made it a central part of her campaign,” the BBC anchor agreed. “What does the campaign have to say about thoughts that this year’s Galactic Cup championship by the Bakura Miners, won here on Bakura no less, buoyed the Prime Minister’s numbers?”

“I asked that very question to one of the Prime Minister’s senior campaign advisors. She said that if you’d asked that question a year ago, when the Miners finished dead last in the ELL, Unionists would have been salivating over the Miners being a millstone around the Prime Minister’s neck, that three years of poor showings by the team over her last administration would have been a liability. Now, the advisor stated, they’re saying it’s an unfair advantage, only because she’s benefitting from it. She called it ‘politics as usual’ and that the Prime Minister has always been, and will always be, a Miners fan no matter how they perform, like any other Miners fan,” the reporter stated.

“Sounds like the campaign isn’t willing to say that the championship had no effect on the results.”

The reporter smiled. “That’s pretty much on the nose.” She turned and looked over her shoulder. “Alex, I think the Prime Minister is about to come out.”

“Thanks Kari. We’ll go straight to her now.”

The feed transitioned to the stage just seconds before Ayn Trieste walked out from the wings with a broad smile on her face and an enthusiastic wave to the diehard supporters who had come out for the victory speech.

“My fellow Bakurans, I humbly accept your election of me to serve as your Prime Minister once more,” Ayn declared. “With your blessing, conveyed at the polls, we will continue the great work of our Bakuran dream.”

---

The rest of Ayn’s speech was boilerplate--pledges to govern for all Bakurans, not just those who voted for her; thanks to those who had worked hard for this moment; love for her family, who joined her on the stage--and when it was finished and the Prime Minister was gone, the BBC game back to their reporter.

“Kari, before we go, let’s talk about the other big story tonight, the Senate results. What does the Trieste campaign have to say about them?” the anchor asked.

“They’re declining comment, citing the four outstanding races that have yet to be called. However, even if Fianna Fail takes all those remaining seats, they’re going to come in at 46-34 in the Senate. In a worst case scenario, they’ll have only a two-senator majority in the legislative chamber. Depending on how these races end up, we may see an 18 seat loss by the Prime Minister’s party when all is said and done. While Fianna Fail will still control both the executive and the legislature, they’ll need strict party unity throughout the next four years. It’ll be interesting to see if the Prime Minister can push another progressive legislative agenda given the fact the deciding votes in her party will likely be held by the moderate wing.”

“And any comment on whether the campaign feels this will hamstring the Prime Minister?”

“None at all. As one advisor said, ‘We’ll govern tomorrow.’”

“And likely party tonight. Thanks Kari. Let’s turn to detailed analysis of all 80 Senate races…”

 

You are so good in writing politics that I am asking myself at times, if you actually are in politics.

 

I may have watched all of The West Wing, so sounds like I absorbed it well.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 and especially @Vehn

Hapes Consortium

“Congratulations on the new administration,” VicePrex Karl Polarit of the Corporate Sector Authority said, shaking Declan’s hand at the private reception for D12 leaders and foreign ministers. The setting was appropriately grand as this session of the 12 great powers was being hosted by the Hapes Consortium. The gilded drawing rooms that the Queen Mother had chosen for this meeting spoke to wealth and power. She had decided against hosting on Hapes itself and had instead selected one of the monarchy’s summer retreats with grand vistas of sparkling seas. The setting was no less impressive for it “only” being a part-time residence of the monarchy.

“It was a gratifying result,” Declan said honestly to his opposite number, “though I don’t suppose that you ever have quite the same level of anxiety with the way the Direx Board is structured.”

Polarit gave a single wave of his hand in a sign of admission. “Though there are shareholder elections, the truth is that our system has more in common with your cousin’s--” He motioned to the grandeur around them, indicating Sierra Chume in the abstract. “--than with yours, down the court politics. We just call it a board room instead of a court. Then again, with your family’s ability to continually pop up in the governance of your planet I suppose maybe the differences aren’t all that great, are they?”

“We are still accountable to the voters,” Declan said firmly.

“And yet there has been a Trieste in some branch of Bakuran planetary government for over 50 years, has there not? Since your mother entered the Senate, I believe? Your aunt holds the longest tenure of you all.”

“Something that we have reformed. She will require renomination and reconfirmation by the Senate in three years,” Declan said, referring to the recent constitutional amendment setting term limits for supreme court justices. The bill the Senate had passed implementing the amendment had put Regan’s seat up as the first Associate Justice requiring reconfirmation. She would be preceded in terming out only by the Chief Justice.

“And your party will still be in power then? I have little doubt of the outcome,” Polarit said archly.

“We hold a narrow margin in the legislature,” Declan allowed, “one that could make the outcome far from certain. In fact, my aunt may be harmed more than she is helped by her membership in the family.”

“If you’d care to bet against her, I would take odds in her favor.”

“No bet,” Declan replied immediately with a smile.

“As I thought,” Polarit said, returning the grin.

“Since I have a private moment with you, there is one thing worth discussing between us,” Declan said, dropping the volume of his voice. Polarit gave a brief motion for Declan to continue. “I hear that CSA troops have been raiding Centrality ships.”

Polarit scoffed. “If the Federation Director told you about accusations being flung about by Queen, Dictator, What-have-you Heraat, I don’t suppose the equally spurious allegations against the Federation arming a counterinsurgency were brought up as well, were they?”

“Save your indignation,” Declan warned him. “This is a reminder that this is the sort of thing that needs to go through the D1SC.”

“What, so you and the Republic can indignantly accuse the Corporate Sector of starting a war of conquest to make a galactic pariah of us?”

“The D1SC does not prohibit war as a foreign policy tool. It only requires its signatories to alert the other members when they are going to use military force. If the Centrality is wronging you, you might find you have allies.”

“Please,” Polarit sneered. “How’s that conversation going to go, if what you allege is true? ‘We’d like to take some systems from the Centrality? Everyone’s fine with that, right?’ You’d use the D1SC to shame us publicly.”

“Votes aren’t made public and you know it,” Declan said.

“Oh, so if you all vote against us you’re going to remain silent when the HoloNet picks up word of a CSA invasion? I doubt it. More like issue a condemnation of our imperialist ambitions.”

“We’d do that anyways if you didn’t tell us in advance.”

“So you just want a few extra days of time to prepare your remarks. Wonderful system you and your wife have devised. Really going to bring about galactic peace,” Polarit said dryly. “Look, even if our forces were raiding shipping lanes, this isn’t war. It’s a skirmish.”

“Karl,” Declan said, growing frustrated, “these are the things that lead to war. The CSA is on board with the compact. You’re obligated to notify the council.”

“And what are you going to do if we don’t?” Karl asked pointedly. He didn’t bother waiting for Declan’s reply.

Declan watched him go. This was shaping up to be a great way to start Ayn’s third administration.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn Did you think I wouldn't come back to this?

Gesco City, Bakura

“Congratulations on your reelection, Senator,” Yeoh Gawa said, shaking hands with one of Gesco City’s representatives to the federal legislature.

“It is an honor to serve,” Phyllida Travers replied graciously. “May I say how kind of you it is to invite me to your office. I’ll admit I’ve always wondered what it was like.”

That wasn’t the real reason that Travers had come and both Human females knew it. Yeoh had funnelled millions of credits into Travers’ reelection campaign in 296. It had been one of the final races to be called by the Federal Election Commission. The margin was just wide enough to avoid a recount, but it hadn’t been by much. Even then, Travers was lucky. Fianna Fail and the Union Party had split the four last Senate races, each taking two. That meant that the majority for Ayn Trieste’s governing party was now eight seats. Though it gave the Deputy Prime Minister some leeway in terms of defections when voting on bills, it wasn’t much. Just five Fianna Fail senators voting with the minority party would block any legislation.

Phyllida and Yeoh both knew the senator had shown up not out of courtesy, because she owed her election to the Gawa family. Without their marshalling of financial resources, she would be unemployed.

Yeoh smiled. “You flatter us. We have a modest, boring real estate office like so many others across Bakura.”

“Mmmm,” Phyllida hummed noncommittally, eyeing a painting on the wall opposite her. She had a feeling it had sold for seven figures at auction. “Even so, it’s a refreshing change from government buildings.”

“I imagine. You know, one of the reasons that I convinced my friends to contribute to your campaign was just that attitude,” Gawa said.

“What attitude?” Travers asked, blinking. She didn’t feel she had an attitude of any sort.

“You’re not enraptured by the capital. It happens all the time: a being goes to Salis D’aar, intent on making a real difference, but then they fall into the same old patterns. They start seeking personal power--precisely because they want to make a difference--but that means they have to cow to the entrenched interests, the scions of the Houses of Bakura who, despite what many voters think, still run things.” Travers read between the lines: families like the Captisons, Ardens, and Triestes that had guided the major parties for centuries. “As a result, nothing really changes. You, on the other hand, have maintained your independence.”

“That’s a kind assessment,” Travers said. She would have said that she was an unremarkable backbencher. While she was a reliable voter for the majority, she’d split from the core of the party on some of the major legislation in the last session when Prime Minister Trieste had embarked on her ambitious agenda. This reflected her moderate constituency, one she’d won in the 292 landslide for Fianna Fail. As a result, she wasn’t a darling of the Deputy PM like Cape Suzette or Salis D’aar senators with their liberal backers were.

“We need more senators like you,” Gawa stated, “senators who have the bravery and independence to chart a different course for Bakura. In fact, I think there are more senators like you. I organized support for them in this last election too. I suspect you’d all become fast friends if you met each other. Perhaps you could find the time to make it to a salon I’m planning.”

“Well, one can never have too many friends, can one?” Travers agreed amiably. It was especially true when your patron told you to make friends.

 

Sounds like a few Senators owe the Gawas some... favors. I suspect these favors might muck up Ayn's plans.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn In which we launch a couple new Triestes into the galaxy...

University of Bakura, Salis D’aar; Salis D’aar; Bakura

“We are so very proud of both of you,” Ayn said, hugging each of her children in turn.

They were standing in Shenandoah’s dorm room. Niall’s was down the hall. Both of them were in the middle of unpacking their things from boxes. Though the pair probably would have normally been assigned to separate dorms (or at least separate floors) for their freshman year at Bakura’s flagship public university, the twins had agreed to be on the same co-ed floor of Freeborn Hall to make life easier for their protection detail.

“As you’ve said about twenty times recently,” Niall pointed out patiently.

“What are we supposed to say about the fourth straight generation of Golden Bears in the family?” Declan said. It wasn’t quite a birthright for the Noble House to attend UB Salis D’aar, but firstborn children had a habit of being accepted and attending. Declan and Ayn had both gone there, as had Declan’s mother Kerry, and her father before her, Fionn. It was Fionn who had his name on a building and a statue on the ground for his work in the rebuilding and resettlement of Bakura. “We are proud of you.”

“UBSD was so important for us,” Ayn said, taking her husband’s hand.

“That day your mother looked out her dorm room window and saw me…” Declan began, looking at his wife.

“We know,” Shenandoah and Niall said in unison. They’d heard the story of how their parents had met here for years, especially as their own university decisions drew closer.

“All we’re saying is that your university years are full of excitement, potential, you never know,” Declan said. “The beings in the next room could become lifelong friends. The connections you make in the years could profoundly affect the course of your lives.”

“We know,” Shenandoah said patiently.

“I think that’s our signal to let them get on with it,” Ayn said to Declan, patting his hand.

“You know you can come back to Marian Square if you need to. Even if it’s just so you don’t have to fight for a washing machine,” Declan assured them.

“We’ll use our elbows if the Marshals don’t convince them to let us have a turn at the communal ones,” Niall reassured them.

“Let’s go. They’ll never meet anyone with the Prime Minister hanging around,” Ayn said as she tugged at her husband to go. “Have fun and don’t ditch the Marshals or there will be consequences.” The twins had never tried to do so, but for some reason Ayn felt the need to warn her children against trying that new experience at university.

“If anyone asks, you can take holos with them on your way out,” Shenandoah called. “We don’t mind.”

“Might even help us get invited to fraternity parties,” Niall added.

Declan almost said something in response to that, but another pull from Ayn convinced him to keep his mouth shut.

Finally, the twins were alone. They looked at each other. “Here we go,” Niall said, taking a deep breath.

“Time for our lives to begin,” Shenandoah replied, taking her brother’s hands and squeezing them with a mix of anxiety and joy.

---

Six hours later, Shenandoah and Niall snuck out the back door at a raging house party thanks to a discreet tip from their marshal detail that the party was about to be shut down by SDPD. Both giggled as only the inebriated could do all the way back to their dorm rooms.

 

That ending made me literally laugh out loud. Of course they would find trouble as soon as their parents left. The question is, will the marshal detail inform Mom and Dad?

Also, what is the drinking age in Salis D'aar?

 

As a pretty progressive society, I've envisioned Bakura to have an 18 age for just about all things. Old enough to join the Marines? Old enough to vote? Old enough to drink.

However, I draw a lot of parallels with Ireland. As my Dad was once told in a bar in Dublin, by a bartender no less: "Here, the legal drinking age is just a suggestion." However, we can safely assume that Niall and Shenandoah are over 18.

 

Well, since they're in college, I assumed they were 18. But still good to know they aren't underage drinking.

 

Sorry, for only catching up now!

Certain circumstances lead to me having a lot of reading time this weekend.

Six hours later, Shenandoah and Niall snuck out the back door at a raging house party thanks to a discreet tip from their marshal detail that the party was about to be shut down by SDPD. Both giggled as only the inebriated could do all the way back to their dorm rooms.

This reminded me that there was no real Saint Patrick´s Day this year.

Ah well, there will be other occasions.

And there also will be another cherry blossom festivals in future.

This is not the end, but possibly the awakening for new chances...

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn What's a benefit of more indoor time? Less excuse to not write about Triestes!

UB Telaan Valley, Golden Prairie, Bakura

Ayn stood on the stage of the largest auditorium the university offered, a row of flagpoles bearing the blue and gold planetary flag stretching from end to end behind her. Her chin was high, her cheeks flush with the start of her third administration. This was her first major policy speech since her inauguration and she’d been in no hurry to make it. It was one that she’d wanted to get right.

“I came to UBTV because what I have to say affects you, the generation of Bakurans who will join the workforce in the next few years. While many of you may change your careers over time, you’ll be set on a trajectory by the decisions you make here,” Ayn began. “At this stage of your life, you’re forming your values in a period of rapid, sometimes surprising, self-discovery. And values are what we must discuss today.

“Most beings have to make a decision between two competing desires: what they want to do and what they can afford to do. I imagine many of you want to do something that will make an impact in the lives of others like teach young minds, care for the ill and infirm, protect and clean our environment, or provide legal aid to those who can’t afford it. But you’re all smart beings—after all, you made it into UBTV.” She paused for some partisan cheers.

“And because you’re smart, you know that many times these professions don’t pay well. Now, Bakura has made a promise to you and the generations that come after you that we will cover the cost of your education if you work in a job that serves your fellow Bakurans. That’s going to eliminate student debt for a lot of you, but that won’t solve all your problems. Many of you will decide to have families and will have to think about how you’ll provide for them. While not having to reckon with student debt will help, it won’t do everything.

“This is where we need to talk about values. Since Deredith Arden landed on Bakura centuries ago, we have operated under a system that has said that wages are determined by supply and demand. If many beings can do a job, we pay less for it. If few beings can do it, we pay more. This is why there are beings, perhaps even some of you here today, who will take jobs for hedge funds creating complicated financial models that can make a lot of credits.

“But work like that creates wealth for a select few. In fact, it creates nothing for society as a whole. No one’s life will be made better by this work. No child will have a brighter future because of it. But this is the way it always has been.

“Until now.”

Ayn straightened just a little bit.

“Today I propose that we value work not just by scarcity of labor, but by the good it does for society. Teachers, public defenders, nurses, and a host of other professionals are part of the vibrant life and society that we enjoy. It is time that these professions are properly valued. This week, I will send to the Senate proposed legislation to create a multi-tiered minimum wage system in which we, as a planet, put our values into practice. Teachers will be paid what they are worth for educating our children. Nurses and doctors will receive their fair share for caring for the sick and dying. Sanitation workers will receive their due for keeping our streets clean. Professions across the board that make Bakura a better place will be rewarded commensurate with their impact on communities. It is time for Bakura to lead the way yet again by giving fair wages to important work!”

The audience of students cheered this announcement and Ayn gave herself a moment to bask in their approval.

“Now, I’m not here to tell anyone that they can’t pay someone to make complicated financial models for hedge fund managers. This legislation won’t depress anyone’s wages. It will raise floors. Employers can reward whatever work however they want, but the days of beings struggling because they choose work that benefits us all is over.

“So join me in standing for a Bakura that prioritizes its public infrastructure: not just in our bridges and monorails but the living infrastructure that builds our common resources and contributes to our economy.”

Her speech finished, Ayn watched with pride as the auditorium rose to its feet. The next phase of her Bakuran society had started.